Similarly afflicted
by El loopy
Summary: [Post-Cruel Prince] "It seems you are afflicted the same as I." Now his fingers came to rest, just two of them, on the smooth join where the back of her hand met her wrist. "Tell me, do we torment each other, or grant the other a reprieve?" Carden x Jude. Oneshot.


Similarly afflicted

Jude watched him from across the crowded room, a knife beneath the fabric of her dress. The crowds ebbed and swelled around her like the lungs of some gigantic beast, and she paced her breathing to match. Over the last few months, since becoming unwittingly crowned, Carden had thrown more over-indulgent parties than she'd been able to count and as his most trusted confidante she had been forced to attend every – single - one. She was sure he did it to spite her. They were a spy master's nightmare of lurking dangers, and potential assassination attempts. Somewhere in the rafters Jude knew that Ghost was perched, ever ready for an order. The others would be mingled in the crowds, unimportant and unnoticed. She was neither of those things. A mortal advisor was a curiosity at best and the attention she garnered matched the eccentricity of the position.

As the crowd around her thinned Jude took a relieved breath and instinctively raised her gaze to lock onto Carden. Her eyes tracked him even as others conversed with her, mocked her, tried to influence her, because that was her job. Her training was useful in keeping her focus in two places at once but was almost redundant when it came down to Carden. She wanted him. That was all there was to it. It disgusted her. It shamed her. Yet neither of those things made it less true. She knew where he was in any room by the feel of her skin. The want waited just beneath the surface, pressing outwards. The closer he stepped, the tighter it grew. Her body was a coil of tension, a groan with no release and at some point, in their recent dealings with each other, he'd realised.

_Sat at the table, correspondence spread in front of her, the sleeve of his jacket purred over her arm and she jumped, eyes flashing around to his as he leaned in from behind, reaching past her. _

"_What are you doing?" came her snapped response, too immediate to hide her reaction. She hadn't been paying attention. Roach would have ridiculed her for that. In response Carden picked up a pen and tick-tocked it back and forth before her eyes, without moving away. The pressure of his presence made her skin feel too small. His proximity setting her nerves on edge. "I could have passed that to you," she ground out and she almost felt the smirk impressed on his lips._

"_Mustn't treat you like a mortal," he mocked, "you'll get a complex."_

On the other side of the room Carden slipped away from a knot of ingratiating nobility and passed through a far door. As he passed the threshold his gaze swept the room, alighting on her with a scornful quirk of his eyebrows. The contact twisted her stomach into a toxic coil. It had been so much easier to hate him when she had not really _known_ him. Jude's hand curved into the fabric of her skirt in a deceptively anxious gesture, whilst gripping the handle of her knife. Watchful without giving herself away. Keeping her movements natural she navigated the room without incident. No one had followed the High King except her.

* * *

The room beyond was some sort of library. Shelves lined the walls floor to ceiling. Heavy drapes of a deep mauve covered the windows. The carpet was of a similar dark hue, but she couldn't make it out. Everything about the room was enclosed and shadowed. Weak light emitted from deep scones on the walls allowing her just enough to see by. The intent was obviously of an intimate sanctuary, shut off from the rest of Faerie. Were she a normal human in a mortal realm she might have found it comforting, but she was not.

The moment Jude's feet crossed the threshold she stepped swiftly to one side, pressing the wall to her back as she drew the knife. The room was silent, but the sconces were lit, and she could feel his presence in here.

"Is that really necessary?"

His voice drifted lazily from the other end of the room, curling in the air like smoke. Jude's heart did not speed up, but her stomach dropped a fraction. The words brushed across her skin like fingers and every nerve flared. It took only a moment longer for her eyes to adjust to the meagre light. Too long for a spy but not unreasonable for a human. A long table stretched out in front of her and the dark shapes piled on it were stacks of books. Some lay open as though browsed through and abandoned. At the far end of the table a half-circle of high-backed chairs, ornately adorned sofas and a divan stood around an unlit fireplace. She had expected to see him lounging on the divan, it seemed more in keeping, but instead he was hidden in the shadows of one of the chairs. She could just make out a book dangling over the edge of the chair arm, hanging open from his long fingers.

"Should I be touched that you followed me?"

Jude stepped further into the room, eyes grazing over every nook an assassin might hide in. She wouldn't be able to see them coming. The knife stayed in her hand.

"If you wander off from a party, I am going to follow you," she told him with as much deadpan as she could, "far too easy for an assassin to get in."

"Have to keep your puppet king safe," he mocked, bitter anger bleeding into his tone, "else someone might cut his strings."

She didn't respond, suppressing a frisson of fear at the thought of all her hard work being lost, of what might happen to Oak if Carden died prematurely.

"I didn't have you down as a reader," her eyes flicked to the item in his fingers and back. Her derision of his character was meant to be an insult. He merely lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh? Not even after you stole my book?"

_Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. _

She didn't hide her expression fast enough. He knew she'd found the writing.

"It took me too long a time to realise it must have been you, spying for my brother Dain." His voice turned languid. "I'm going to be wanting it back."

Soft edges and yellowed pages under her finger tips. One of the only things she'd bought with her from her old life, from part two of the saga. She didn't want to surrender it even if it _had_ been his.

"Mortal books one of your more secret vices, is it?" His silence told her everything and she twisted her face in disgust. "Of course it is. Far more shameful then lying passed out on Nevermore and wine. More shameful than being staggering drunk." Her eyes passed over the shelves. "There must be more than that one. You must have a stash somewhere."

"As though I would tell you," he replied but he seemed more amused than upset, "and, yes, it _is_ a greater shame."

Jude stalked away from him muttering about at least letting her have access to them as, of the two of them, she _was_ the mortal. He was frustrating and infuriating and she would kiss him again if she didn't move. Falling silent she worked her way methodically around the seating arrangements, testing each shadow with her knife.

"Sit down." His voice carried and she flinched.

"Shut up!"

"What are you doing?"

Jude ignored him and finished her sweep. "Making sure no one's here to kill you." She passed around the back of his chair, pausing above him, and his head tipped back to follow her. "This room is a death trap."

His lips quirked. "Yes. I don't think Eldred would have approved what I've done with the place." Surprise must have been evident on her face. He enjoyed the reaction. He'd created this; this intimate cut-off bubble. She thought again of what his life with Balekin must have been like. No where safe to hide. Her perception shifted against her will. She snatched back at it; the hatred, the fear, and tried to hold on, but it didn't quite fit anymore. The space it had occupied had changed. His gaze held hers and she hoped he couldn't see. She snapped her eyes away and settled herself on the sofa, as far as possible from him.

"They'll be missing you from your party."

The laugh was harsh and brittle.

"They'll be thinking I've passed out under a table somewhere." This, she acknowledged to herself, was probably true. Its what she would have assumed. "Have to keep up appearances." His attention intensified on her and she locked her muscles in anticipation. "It would appear, dear Jude, that you are the only one who truly cares about my whereabouts." Slowly he leaned forward in his chair, folding up the book without looking, and dropping it on the floor. His gaze didn't waver from hers. "Tell me, would you still follow me if I was entertaining more private company?"

He'd lured her in close enough to slap her in the face with that one. She felt herself flinch away from the image, flinch away him. He smiled like he knew it.

"I would assess the situation remotely," she was pleased that she'd managed a bored tone. He was even more amused by it. "If I deemed it an unsuitable, potentially life-threatening dalliance, then I would of course step in to warn you. What you choose to happen after that point will be on your own potentially spilled blood."

Carden tapped a finger to his lips in faux thoughtfulness.

"I see. You would not care to watch then?"

The memory flashed. Her eyes meeting his as two Fae poured over his half-dressed body. Her face flushed.

"To ensure my safety I mean. Of course, you could join in."

Her stomach twisted, along with her mouth. Never. She would not fawn or simper. She was not his plaything. Her expression gave too much away.

"I suspected not," he continued and got to his feet. Within two strides he was in front of her and then settled next to her, perched on the edge, eyes holding hers hostage. "You don't like to share." He was talking about Locke. The memory still had a sting in its tail. Carden made it sound shameful. Selfish. Whilst Madoc and Oriana had remained together faithfully, fidelity was not a strong virtue of the Fae and Locke's attitude was not uncommon. Carden's tone scratched at her sensitivity to her mortality. To her very un-Faerie-ness. He'd chosen poorly to mock her for this though. Madoc was faithful. Madoc was strong and he had taught her honour. She had more self-respect than she ought after all they'd put her through. Jude straightened her back.

"No," she responded firmly, voice strong and even. "No, I don't share."

Carden's expression sharpened, intensified, and she felt it shiver at her insides. That had not been her intention, to provoke a reaction from him, for her defiance to be something compelling.

They sat like that a moment longer, no words passing between them, each watching the other.

Carden moved first. Utterly slowly and utterly deliberately he reached out a hand. Jude locked herself in place to prevent any movement, any reaction, but her nerves were coiled tight with his proximity. Desire was an uncontrollable wild thing that seemed to be making a mess of her well ordered mind. But she would not back down.

His hand reached the exposed skin of her arm but did not touch. He rested there for one beat eyes on hers and then smoothly twisted his hand over and swept the back of it down the length of exposed skin. Without touching her. Jude felt her reaction shudder through her. An initial wave followed by gentler ones in the wake. Carden's face was so many things she couldn't work them out.

"It seems you are afflicted the same as I." Now his fingers came to rest, just two of them, on the smooth join where the back of her hand met her wrist.

"Tell me, do we torment each other or grant the other a reprieve?"

Trouble was, she didn't know which was which. Was to walk away the torment or to kiss him?

"That depends if you're a drug or a poison," she found herself replying. He removed his touch from hers as though just realising he was doing it.

"I'm intrigued." His words prompted for more, but she didn't feel inclined to explain that a poison took lots of small doses to immunise oneself, even to the detriment of her health, whereas a drug was best avoided at all costs.

"I have a different perspective for you," Carden continued when she did not. He shifted so his leg pressed against the length of hers and she was acutely aware of every inch of him next to her but knew he would not kiss her. Not yet. He wanted her to break first. "What if I'm both?" That was probably true. What would she do if she had a poison that was a drug?

It was surreal, this room that he'd created, so mortal, so revealing. So intimate with its low light and shadows. So cut off that maybe she could pretend, they could both pretend. This thing that they both hated and yet both wanted, here felt like maybe the first thing was less and less true. Much harder to feel ashamed in the dark. The memory of their last kiss crawled under her skin.

"Maybe you are," she responded coolly and then, not because she'd broken first, but because she hadn't, she kissed him.

It was different from last time. They'd goaded each other, baited and worried at the other's frayed edges, pushed the other to this point. Last time he'd been taken by surprise. Now his lips were ready, his hands settling eagerly, one on the sofa back to brace and balance. She could feel the curve of his elbow against her shoulder. The other gripping her waist. Her own hand covered this one, pressing it closer, trapping it down. Last time she'd let her desire to humiliate, to manipulate, override her common sense. His shame had been worth the memory of parted lips and kisses that felt like fighting that she wanted to do again. Now the game had changed, the terrain felt different, because he'd realised that she desired him as much as he did her. For some reason her disgust, matching his in equal measure, somehow lessened it. She hated him for working it out, hated herself for allowing him to see. This didn't feel like hate though…

It felt like heat and want. Both his hands now on her waist, hers knotted around the back of his neck, when had that happened? Her illusion of control gone. It felt like breathless gasps and not enough air. Not enough skin, and her fingers on the buttons of his shirt just opening the neck so she could brush them against his chest. He shuddered and his hands slid from her waist, around her stomach, drifting up towards her breasts and she made a noise she hadn't made before.

Just as she had started kissing him, she stopped, abruptly getting to her feet and out of arm's reach.

"What are you doing?" he was confused, voice wounded, and she took more steps away, keeping herself as far from him as would prevent her going back.

"Mustn't overdose," she replied in a cut tone, hand automatically smoothing her skirt, "and you need to return to your party." She could feel the flush of her skin, the thunk of her heart. Every nerve whispering for more. His face was displeased but he raked it down with a sneer.

"Of course."

With deliberate movements he got to his feet and stalked past her, ignoring his ruffled state of undress, clearly craving the reputation he'd abandoned. He paused as he passed, eyes alighting on her with almost malicious intent.

"One more thing." He stepped close and in her moment of surprise pressed his mouth to hers, his arms circling her back and pulling her against him. Her traitorous body gave a groan of consent and instantly caved. Desire breaking more things in her mind. It was hot and heavy and when he stepped back ungently she was still reeling, breath stuttering. His eyes were at once hot and cold. "You don't hold the power here." He walked away to the door, tossing over his shoulder. "I'll be seeing you for your next dose," before disappearing.

Jude allowed herself the anger, hating him becoming suddenly easy again, even as she passed a finger over her Fae-kissed lips and a small, small whisper in her mind reminded her with not a small amount of shocked satisfaction that that time, _he'd_ kissed _her_.


End file.
